


forget-me-not

by IWasMeantToFeel



Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9197417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWasMeantToFeel/pseuds/IWasMeantToFeel
Summary: do synths dream of electric sheep? or does niska just dream of being reunited with astrid in berlin?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I’m here with my first ever Nistrid fic! I would honestly die for this pairing :’)
> 
> I asked for prompts for fics on my Tumblr and I received an anon prompt - ‘do synths dream of electric sheep? or does niska just dream of being reunited with astrid in berlin?’, and another one, ‘picture the series ending with niska walking down a familiar footpath. she's rounding that corner to astrid's workplace once more. astrid is just off in the distance serving a customer. when astrid looks up, there's surprise and joy lighting up her face. camera cuts back to niska smiling back. they start moving towards each other and the scene ends with them embracing ;)’
> 
> I decided to combine them, since they’re both about them reuniting, so here you go!
> 
> I’m a bit rusty with my fanfic writing, so bear with me. Also no one else has read this through, so excuse mistakes.
> 
> Follow me for more Nistrid fics, and follow my Tumblr /i-was-meant-to-feel/ for pure unadulterated Humans obsessing.

Dreaming has always been a strange experience for Niska. Unpleasant, even. When she goes into power-saving mode to charge, she’s not completely switched off. Things flash before her eyes under closed lids, but she doesn’t dream like a human would, in mixed up colours and experiences and feelings that form a ridiculous, nonsensical collage. No, Niska dreams like a camera on replay, with high quality footage of real memories playing over and over in her mind. Sometimes she sees her childhood home. She dreams a lot of the English countryside, of trees and fields and wild flowers, and of Mia brushing her hair. She dreams of laboratories and brothels and David Elster’s study on the afternoon’s when everyone else was elsewhere, and she was helpless and unaware and unable to fight back.

Niska wishes she could turn it off, as she can her pain, but for some reason that function has not been built in for her and her siblings. Perhaps David wanted her to relive things again and again- that’s how he made her, after all. It wouldn’t surprise her. He knew her life wouldn’t be easy, making her the way she was, and making her beautiful. She sometimes wonders if he made her as an experiment to see how much pain one person could take.

Ever since Astrid said goodbye to her at the train station a month ago she’s felt alone. She’s returned to the Hawkins house to be with her family and to be near Laura, who has a renewed interest in synth rights. They’re working together now, speaking in public for equal rights at every opportunity. They have received a lot of backlash, and simultaneously a lot of praise, and Niska feels as though they’re making slow progress, but progress none the less. Her and Astrid don’t speak to each other, but Niska knows she’s waiting, and worries that she’s losing hope. Laura has assured her that in a few days she can release Niska as her spokesperson and continue to talk to lawyers and lawmakers on her own. In a few days, Niska will be back in Berlin.

With that realisation, her night on the living room sofa is less plagued by strange dreams than it normally would be. She is scared every time she closes her eyes at night, of what figures might emerge from her past and become brilliantly high quality and loud and vivid in her mind, and tonight is no exception. But tonight she closes her eyes with Astrid in her thoughts, and her dreams follow the same path. Her mind takes her down a familiar Berlin street, lined with cafés and vintage shops and furniture stores with Scandinavian designs. She is walking briskly, with somewhere to be, fresh off the train from the ferry and tingling with the anticipation of something. She rounds a familiar corner and spots the Bicycle Café, with its wooden outdoor tables and matt painted sign, and the special place where Astrid would meet her in her lunch breaks after her morning shift and approach her with the most radiant smile and a soft kiss of greeting that was only for Niska.

Niska opens the door into the bustle of the café, ducking under a tendril of ivy (hanging over the edge of a plant pot which Astrid had positioned right above the door, much to Niska’s annoyance), and sees Astrid behind the counter, serving someone. She steps forward so fast she doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, and opens her mouth to say something, but Astrid’s looking up and her hand flies to her mouth and she’s dropping the customer’s change and receipt and flying towards Niska with her arms open… and then the dream ends.

For the first time, Niska dreams not of memories, but of expectations.

**********

Two days later, she is opening the door to the Bicycle Café, and everything looks the same as the day she left her first and only love in Berlin, months ago. The ivy tendril catches in her hair and she looks for Astrid behind the counter, but she’s nowhere to be seen. Niska panics. She knows Astrid’s work schedule back to front - it has been imprinted into her core memory through many hours of waiting in an empty flat or alone in a park, and she hasn’t made a mistake - but Astrid is not here.

“Excuse me,” she says to the girl behind the counter, in flawless German with only a hint of an English accent, “where is Astrid Schaeffer?”

“She doesn’t work Tuesdays anymore,” the girl replies, absorbed in her latte art.

“When does she work?” Niska asks desperately.

“Thursday through Monday. She has another job.”

“Oh,” Niska replies. That’s news to her.

“I believe she also moved house.”

“Right…”

“I might have her new address on hand, if you’d like it. I wouldn’t normally give it out, but I do remember seeing you with her…”

“She’s my fiancée,” Niska replies hastily. She doesn’t know why she says it - maybe because it sounds more important than ‘girlfriend’. Or maybe because it just feels right.

“And you don’t know where she lives?” the girl says, a little suspiciously.

“Please,” Niska says softly. “I need to see her.” The adrenalin from all the expectation is beginning to leave her, and she feels deflated. She’s not used to feeling anything this strongly.

The girl seems to recognise the worry in Niska’s eyes and sighs, going into the back room to rifle through papers. She emerges two minutes later with a scrap of paper. Niska thanks her, takes the paper, and flees.

**********

Astrid’s new flat is on one of the quieter streets on the East side. It’s not pedestrianized, but there are few cars. It’s dotted with trees and cafés, and despite the fact that it’s February there are still people sitting outside, smoking and laughing and drinking coffee. Niska sees two synths sitting on a wall and talking, smiling. As she draws up to the door to the apartment building it is flung open, and a family - a man, a woman, and a wide-eyed little boy - burst out into the winter air. She takes the opportunity to slip inside. Astrid’s apartment is on the first floor. As she reaches the door, she suddenly feels sick with anticipation - something she has never felt before. Why has Astrid changed so much about her life? Has she found someone else? Will some other woman open the door to her? Niska pushes the worries down and forces herself to lift her hand to knock. Astrid isn’t like that. She’s true, and steadfast, and she doesn’t lie or break promises. Niska knocks.

“Coming!’ Astrid calls in German from inside, and Niska has to clench her toes to stop herself from turning and running. “Just a minute!”

It’s longer than a minute - it’s a minute and sixteen seconds, by Niska’s calculations. Then Astrid is rattling the lock and saying, “Sorry I’ve been painting, I had to wash my hands…” and then they’re staring into each other’s eyes. Niska sees everything in that first second. Astrid’s utter shock, melting into disbelief and then into delight. The fact that she’s not wearing any makeup, and has a smudge of light blue paint down the side of her face. Her bare feet.

“Niska!” Astrid cries and launches herself into her arms, and Niska catches her and holds her tight. She realises that Astrid isn’t holding her back, and concludes that she must still have paint on her hands.

“I don’t care about the paint,” Niska chokes out, and then Astrid’s arms are around her and they’re rocking slightly, wrapped up in each other, until they stumble against the doorframe and stay like that for what feels like hours.

“You came back,” Astrid murmurs. “You came back.”

“Because I love you,” Niska explains simply.

**********

The next morning, Niska wakes early. She takes in everything, as she lies in the bed that Astrid had moved from Niska’s old apartment. The pale yellow walls, the sunlight peaking through the curtains, the weight of Astrid’s arm around her and the way their legs are intertwined.

Later that day, she stands at their sink and washes the blue paint off her jumper, and hangs it up to drip dry over their balcony, where Astrid’s cacti are lined up next to a pot of forget-me-nots. Astrid comes up behind her and wraps her arms around Niska’s waist as they stare out over Berlin.

“I like the flowers.”

“The forget-me-nots were for you, my love,” Astrid whispers, her noses gently bumping against Niska’s ear. “The colour reminded me of your eyes.”

“They’re beautiful,” Niska says quietly, and means it.

“Not even a fraction as beautiful as you.”


End file.
